Day 13 - Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig - 533 Miles

States visited on this trip.







Rolled out of bed before the sun this morning and was on the road by 6:30 a.m. Why? I don't know. It was New Year's Eve and seemed like a good idea at the time?

Wanted some new road real bad, and I especially didn't want to go through that maze and madness called DFW. So...I decided to turn south and collect a few more county courthouses.

Turned south on US183 in Vernon.




















(Wilbarger County Courthouse - Vernon, TX)







Moved down US183 through the county seat of Seymour in Baylor County. No picture here. The courthouse complex there looks like one of those post-war single-level tract houses in Florida. I call it the Picasso Elementary School of Architecture. Imagine a one story edifice sprawling in virtually every direction, in cubes, complete with flat roofs, and flatter prospects, and you've just about got it.

One sees three kinds of courthouses in Texas these days: 1) Proud, beautifully restored historic pre-20th century, 2) beautiful, but bedraggled and needing renovation pre-20th century, and 3) those built in the "(false)golden" era of the mid-1960s or 1970s. The latter are those where the most trendy nouveau riche held sway in these rural counties and convinced the powers-that-be to mothball the old courthouses and "modernize." Build NEW! It's the FUTURE and we want to express that "WE'RE PART OF IT." This, of course, from a generation that adopted bell-bottomed trousers and Nehru jackets. What in the hell were they thinking?

Further down US183 more, and better, examples.
Throckmorton County, Throckmorton, TX
(Hometown of Bob Lilly...and if you don't know who he is you were never a Dallas Cowboy fan.)
Interesting renovation. Modern metal roof on old granite rock building.








Shackelford County Courthouse, Albany, TX

One problem is that the trees and traffic have increased so much since these old buildings were built that one often can't get a decent picture of the building. This was a classic example of that dilemma.


This is what you get when you try to capture it all.















And on to Breckenridge in Stephens County. And this is another example of wonderful tree growth covering up a wonderful building. I like both...the trees and the building.
This may have been the most beautiful of all.

Some of the building's detail are extraordinary.
































Took a short jog out of the way to visit Eastland County.







Then back to US183 to Rising Star then down one of my favorites, US36, to Comanche County.

Comanche CH, Comanche, TX

Isn't Comanche just a great name? And a great people for which to name things, too. Most seem to forget, or don't know, that those big, bad Apaches in Arizona were there because the Comanche ran them out of Texas a few centuries earlier.

When it came to tough, in the northern plains it was the Blackfeet, in the southern plains, it was the Comanche.



And, finally, one of my favorite towns in Texas, Hamilton, in, of course, Hamilton County.
This is a beautiful little town mentioned in day 1. This time I stopped at the pharmacy and had a vanilla shake. And it was as good as I remember! Who said you can't go back?


From Hamilton it's a pretty straight jog across I-35, through Temple, and into Brenham, connecting to US290 there. But simple it wasn't to be. Riding toward Caldwell about 50 miles out of Brenham about 6:00 p.m., I saw black clouds forming in front of me. I stopped and put on my riding jacket just in time. Then the bottom fell out. To paraphrase an old Texas buddy of mine, the rain came down like a big cow peeing on a flat rock from a 30 foot bluff. If that means thick and blinding, he's nailed it. And the light show! Wow!! Ever since reading of a guy on a motorcycle being hit by lightning in Denver I've been especially paranoid about riding during lighting storms. So, paranoid I was. And blind. I was a scared boy. It got so bad I had to remove my glasses because the rain was so thick I couldn't see through them. Squinting and holding my head as low as I could I continued on because I was afraid to pull off to the side of the road; there was insufficient shoulder, and I was more concerned about cars behind me than those in front. Plus there's that lightning thing. I managed to
squeek into an Exxon gas service island outside a Wal*Mart in Caldwell after a harrowing ride of fifteen to twenty minutes.

I stayed at the service island for about 45 minutes watching the light show and wondering when animals would start pairing up. The rain had found every open slot or hole in my clothing and I was soaked underneath the jacket. Memo to riders: if you're going to wear these things in rainstorms you should perhaps close the ventilation zippers.

After the main thrust of the storm, with its accompanying lightning, moved off toward the northeast, I mounted up in a continuous rain and headed toward Brenham. It was the typical Texas afternoon thunderstorm pattern: thunder cells visible in batches as far as the eye could see. Missed about as many as I hit, and each one hit seemed thicker than the one before. But, what you do in this case is just continue on. I did, and finally got home about 8:30 p.m., sorry, even with the rain, that the ride was over. I really need to win that lottery thing so I can just ride around the country (world) at leisure.

Thanks for the company on the ride. And to Bobby J and Wayne, (Sundance and Butch) and all the other gang members and great folks at the 13th Annual Beartooth Motorcycle Rally, I just can't tell you how much fun I had, and how much I've enjoyed your company and friendship.

See you next year, if not sooner.

Jerry

Day 12 - Childress, TX - 523 Miles

Up at 5:30 a.m., packed, breakfasted, and on the road by 6:30. Why? I don't know.

Took I-25 South through Colorado Springs, Pueblo, Trinidad, and into Raton, NM. Now I'm back on the roads I took to get to Colorado...and you know how much I like to repeat roads.

Oh, returned through Clayton, NM on US87. If you remember day 2, I pointed out the aroma therapy options open to the Dept. of Homeland Security if they'd just move those Gitmo prisoners to the feedlot just north of Clayton. The situation didn't improve in the few days since I'd last been through. In fact, there was a road repair crew working on the highway adjacent to the feedlot and I honestly don't know how they did it. I kept holding my breath until I just about passed out then gulped a replacement and held again until I passed the place. Kept getting whiffs of the place for the next 100 miles. I think it'd permeated my clothing.

Stopped at the Rabbit Ear cafe in Clayton for a quick lunch at about 11:30. The service drew about 25 inches of mercury. Evidently they had reservations for 11 for lunch and the entire place was consumed with making this happen. Woe unto the single solitary just-off-the-road customer who had the audacity to want service. After sitting in my booth adjacent to all the preparations for about 10 minutes I stood and walked to the counter, grabbed a menu, and sat down across from this lovely young waitress busily making table set-ups; one supposes for the eagerly awaited reservations. I remarked to her that, perhaps, I could get served at the counter. Aware of my dilemma, she apologized, then turned to the other waitress (the only other...and the one who so conspicuously ignored me earlier) and told her I needed to order. It's the waiter/waitress Freddie Prince thing: "Not my station." The first waitress took my order (BLT...how difficult can it be?), brought my coffee, and promptly forgot me until about 15 minutes later when an authority figure from the kitchen came by and asked me if that was my BLT that'd been waiting in the window. I replied in the affirmative and she ordered my waitress to get it for me. I ate my sandwich and, realizing that my chances for a coffee refill were somewhere between Slim and None and Slim'd left town, I got up, went to the register and waited yet again for my waitress to write up the ticket. I paid and left without leaving a tip.

I mention this because I've been noticing a real drop in service in restaurants on this trip. A similar thing happened in a big truck stop restaurant this afternoon. I had to move to a section that had, apparently, live bodies. Frankly, asking for service from people being paid minimum wage in the richest country in the world seems to me to be pretty arrogant anyway. I suspect we're getting what we're paying for...and no more. But, you'll note that congress is currently arguing about saving something on the order of $13B by eliminating subsidies for 31,000 wealthy farmers (read corporations). In case you don't wish to do the math, that's an average of approximately $419,000 per farmer. Meanwhile they fought like hell over raising the minimum wage from $5.15 to $5.95 per hour. By the way, the ag bill will pass without cutting the $13B subsidy because the wealthy farmers spent $44.6M on political contributions and $193M on lobbying last year. If there's one thing Nancy Pelosi (Dem Leader) and John Boehner (Rep Leader) can agree on it's how to keep that ol' get-me-elected contribution party going.

And, for all my conservative friends, please rail like hell to me about the costs of welfare and "entitlement government" just one more f*&king time. Please tell me again how giving money to the rich so they can invest it in factories and production is better than giving money to the poor who spend it on products allowing the producers to invest it in factories and production. Oh yeah, and oh, please, please, trickle down my back again...and tell me it's raining. (END OF RANT.)

No real pictures today. Just more lots and lots of nothing. I like to collect pictures of unique Texas County Courthouses. I've sort of got a coffee table book on the subject in the back of my brain. Picked up two today.




Moore County Courthouse, Dumas, TX
(Not setup very well for photographing)











Potter County Courthouse, Amarillo, TX.











An example of one of the finest from another ride:


Fayette County Courthouse, La Grange, TX

Day 11 - Castle Rock, CO - 337 Miles

Today I woke up the roosters in Rawlings, WY. I just don't understand this crap. When I could sleep, I can't. Let me get back to work and let's see how easy it is to get up.

Anyway, pulled onto I-80 at 7:00 a.m. for just a few miles, taking Hwy130 south at Walcott. This goes through Saratoga where I stopped and donned the long johns and put the cold weather insert into my TourMaster jacket. Yep, it was that chilly. Plus I could see rain clouds in my future. Shortly outside of Saratoga I took Hwy230 through Riverside to Hwy125 just out of Northgate, CO. This is beautiful, desolate country...and you don't have to worry about being run down from the front or the back.




View behind the bike












View in front:










This is not a recommended journey for people with guilty consciences; entirely too much time to think clearly and rationally about things. Fortunately, I don't have a guilty conscience. It's not that I haven't done things I regret...boy have I done things I regret...but I did forgive myself. I discovered no one else was going to and if I was going to get past it I needed to do that. Give it some thought, it's the only way to move forward...you can't move back...and standing still is wholly unacceptable. As my daughter so succinctly puts it, "Build a bridge...get over it!"

Took Hwy125 down to Granby and then turned back north-northeast on Hwy34 into the Rocky Mountain National Park. This was my first trip to this area, and I've always heard it was a great ride. Wouldn't make much sense to make a not-so-great ride a national park, now would it? They didn't let us down. This was a nice ~60 mile ride rivaling, but not quite as spectacular as, Glacier Park's 'Ride To The Sun.' Of course, that only means it was absolutely great.

Some Pics:

This is very "Glacier NP-like" with the rock walls. They appear perfectly calibrated to stop a four-wheel while dumping a motorcycle rider over the edge. (Okay Department of the Interior a little more thought might be applied here.)













And "up"











And "up"














And to prove I was actually there...me.












And "up"











And beyond the treeline. Also, as fate usually does, road repair, one-lane traffic was provided free of charge by the National Park Service. Fortunately, it was the "outside," or "drop-off side" that was being repaired so we were shuttled toward the hill, or terra firma as we two-wheeled charioteers like to call it. It's pretty neat stuff when the other option is thin air.


Okay. Now it's time for my rail against Colorado road signs. It would be really, really nice to have some. I guess the tree-huggers and the nature-only lovers (bet they love my PETA tee shirt) got control of the DOT here in Colorado and decided that highway markers are ugly things. Well, they are folks...TO PEOPLE WHO DON'T NEED THEM!!! I pulled out of the park and wanted to take Hwy7 south. I did it! And Colorado DOT I did it without your stinkin' signs. I don't need no stinkin' signs! Well....maybe I do.

As noted, I found Hwy7 by looking at the map and guessing. I guessed correctly and headed south. Unfortunately, I missed the one (if it existed) for Hwy72 north of Raymond and ended up in Lyons. Now this wasn't all bad because it was a great ride through a long rocky canyon with a small creek running parallel for a lot of the ride. Lots of those fun left-right-left metronomic turns I love so much. Plus, it turns out, Lyons a beautiful little town with a great blues bar (Oskar Blues Bar & Grill). Stopped there for a late lunch (ala 3:30 pm). Believe it or not it was pork chili and it was damned good!

My original intent was to go down somewhere around Nederland (on Hwy72) and start looking for lodging. But...since I was in Lyons and didn't want to backtrack I decided I'd take Hwy36 into Boulder, connect to Hwy119 there and take it to Nederland. Ah, but as ol' Robbie Burns so aptly put it, " The best-laid schemes o' mice an men Gang aft agley." Oh, I found Hwy119 in Boulder all right; in fact I was riding on it for quite some time. I just didn't notice where it turned west toward Nederland. There may have been a sign, BUT I DON'T THINK SO, TIM! I was riding in the right lane anticipating a right turn the entire time, and looking for all signs, including those of the Zodiac. (Colorado and California are more similar than many know.) I believe it was a street named Canyon Blvd (appropriately). I remember seeing that street name and wondering if it was where Hwy119 turned west. It was, but the sign must have been covered up by the foliage. You know, those trees so zealously guarded by the tree-hugger police.

Okay, so that didn't work. I rode on down 36 and exited at the town of Superior. (For what, I just don't know.) There, spying Hwy170 I asked (NOTE: Male asked) a lady at an icehouse if 170 could take me to Nederland. She thought for a moment and then said, "Yes, it does. Just follow it due west." Big MISTAKE. Not asking for directions, but asking a woman for them. No offense ladies, but if you ask a man directions he'll tell you to go East on X, then turn North on Y. A lady will say, "Oh, yes, you go on X until you see the Piggly Wiggly, then turn left on Y by Jane's Wonderful World of Styling. Hwy170 ends about four to five miles further up in a subdivision called Eldorado Springs. Wrong question asked of the wrong source.

Totally frustrated now, I surrender and resign myself to an Interstate ride to get the hell out of Colorado in the morning. I go south on Hwy93 until I hit Hwy6, then Loop470, and I-25 to Castle Rock where I began this tome until their wireless proved useless and I lost about an hour's work. Gave up, went to bed.

Also, to top it all off, my motorcycle "bell" broke. This bodes ill.

Day 10 - Rawlings, WY - 327 Miles

Woke early, as usual, to the shared bathroom dilemma: the locked bathroom door. Would have been easier had I access to other bathrooms, but such was not the case. Bobby J's was private, so was the owner's part of the house. I didn't want to bother Wayne, et al, because they were still sleeping at 6:00 a.m. So, the only thing to do was go into town sans brushed teeth and cover the mornings ablutions as best as can be done in the restroom of a restaurant. Managed to get another good breakfast anyway.

Returned to the lodge in time to have coffee with Wayne and Dick. They were the only ones moving. I packed everything up and waited for all the sleepy heads. Didn't happen. I remembered Bobby J saying they wanted to be on the road by 8:30. That time came and no one was stirring so I decided to head on out. But only after plotting with Wayne for him to tell Ron not to open the left-side saddle bag of his bike since I'd been forced to use it since he locked me out of the bathroom. I know it was him...some of that passive-aggressive revenge for the bathroom in-use code I'd tried to set up.

Anyway, sleepyheads, sorry I missed you before leaving. See you next year if not sooner. Had a ball and loved it all.

Retraced part of the poker run in leaving Red Lodge today. Unfortunately, it was the bad part: the road repair on the way to Belfry. Took Hwy380 to Belfry, MT, Hwy72/120 to Cody, WY, then Hwy14 to Greybull and Hwy20 into Wayne's hometown of Thermopolis, WY. I stayed on Hwy20 to Shoshoni, taking Hwy 26 to Riverton. This last section is the Wind River Range and is a beautiful ride. Stopped at a tourist trap looking for a light, long-sleeved something because the dark underarmour I was wearing was just too hot.



Didn't find anything to fix my heat problem but I did get a great tee shirt.



Front












Back


I just love this shirt!







Outside Riverton I took the Sand Draw cut-off, Hwy135. This is an 36 mi. trek through substantial heat over parts of the indian reservation. A camel would have to carry a water bucket through this. About half-way through you start up and then top a ridge and an amazing panorama opens up. I regret it now, but it was so damned hot I didn't stop and take a picture. My smaller camera from the back of the bike wouldn't do it justice so I just kept on going. Now, in the cool of this room, I regret that decision.

Pulled into Rawlings about 5:00 p.m. and decided that was enough. Checked into a motel and went looking for food. What I found was a thunderstorm that drenched me with very cold rain. Hustled back to the hotel and ordered in Chinese. That usually works.

Day 8/9- Red Lodge, MT - 180 Miles

We are staying at the Medicine Flower Lodge in Red Lodge, Phil and Pat Hoffman,Proprietors. Some are staying in the lodge house in the back while Bobby J and Zelda, Ron and Laura, and I are staying with Phil and Pat in the "big house," (not to be confused with a penal institution). It's a very nice place and the Hoffmans could not possibly be nicer and more accommodating.

I am sharing a bathroom with Ron and Laura and have already suggested a code to indicate which one is in the bathroom at any given time. If I'm going to walk in on someone it needs to be Laura. Ron's a super nice guy but I'm just not sure he's up with the program. More on that later.

Woke up with the rooster again and, not wanting to disturb anyone, decided I'd ride into town and try to find something. It was like 6:15 a.m. and I didn't expect to find anything open but lucked into an early starting restaurant and managed breakfast. Afterward, I took a short ride back up the canyon and took a couple of pictures trying to test out a wide angle lens with an adapter. Took 'em and don't see any real difference...something tells me I need to work on this a little more. But not now.

Went back to the lodge where Wayne was preparing breakfast. Boy, can this guy cook. He also makes some of the best "camp coffee" I've ever had.

Wayne is the Butch Cassidy of the Hole-in-the-Head Gang. Bobby J is our Sundance Kid. The rest of us are just banditos (or is that Doritos?).

The gang rode downtown in the early afternoon to see what was happening. Since it's the 13th Annual Beartooth Motorcycle Rally you can't throw a rock and not hit a motorcycle, motorcycle rider, or vendor selling motorcycle "stuff." Estimates are something over 30,000 bikes in town and that translates into money. Especially where Wayne, Ethan, and Bobby J are concerned. They understand the need to keep this fat ol' economy going and are doing their part. I can see their point...at least I must...I managed to drop about $50 in about 10 minutes on bling. Ya just can't have enough bling.


Bobby J (2nd from left) doing what he does best: shopping. The young lad watching the event is Toughy, Wayne's grandson. And no, I don't know where the name came from. (But I do know Wayne has a calf he's named Dinner, so it could have been worse.)

You can also see some sights while going from sales tent to sales tent. Left is a snap I took holding the camera down by my right leg as I passed. Note Bobby J is never far from the action.

(Click to enlarge)














These guys were great! I hope I can do that when I'm their age.


The championship shopper trophy goes to Ethan, Wayne's seventeen year-old son. He bought bright blue neon-like liquid crystal displays installed on the underside of his bike so it lights up the road surface below the bike as he rides. Later that evening he demonstrated the use of these to the local gendarmes who subsequently gave him a warning ticket because, according to the cop, only police are allowed to show such blue colors. We think the cop somewhat anal, but, fortunately, he gave a warning and Ethan lives just over the hills in Wyoming, not Montana. Perhaps they'll be more amenable back home. (Note, given his stories regarding his interaction with the boys in blue there, I doubt it.)

Exhaustive shopping requires a few stops for libation.
(Ethan, Bobby J, Dick, Wayne, and Toughy)




(Laura, Ron, and Dick)
Perhaps you no longer question my reasoning relative to the bathroom signals.


Later in the evening we sat around stuffing ourselves on great grilled burgers and played guitar and sang almost every song Hank Williams ever wrote. It's a good thing the boys are willing to share their guitars, given mine isn't sounding all that good after FedEx decided to drop it on the top end at an angle. The case has a great mark showing where it smashed, I guess, down some chute. Makes me want to cry.

July 8th
This morning we got up and made it downtown to sign up for the Poker Run. For those who don't know how this works, they set up a course (this one was approximately 180 miles) and designate five stops. At each stop you draw a card from a deck and that card is recorded on your "poker" sheet. At the end (5th stop) you get your last card and the one with the best hand wins a fairly substantial amount of money. There is also a consolation prize for the worst hand. As when I play Hold-Em, I had neither. My first two cards were 6-hearts and Ace-clubs. If this was hold-em the only way I'd see the flop is if I was the big blind and no one raised the pot.

Poker Run Pictures:




Going up.





























Some of several rest (later beer in moderation) stops


















Just like those Tour de France guys we have chase cars bringing food and libation.









I just love all the history around this area. As part of our poker run we took Hwy296, the Chief Joseph Highway. This picture is looking down "Dead Indian Pass." Believing they had trapped Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce, Gen. Oliver O. Howard and his 7th Calvary were anticipating their first victory after numerous defeats at the hands of the retreating tribe. But the Nez Perce, leaving multiple confusing sets of circular tracks were able to escape out of the steep mountain trap, leaving a wounded warrior at the bottom. This warrior, when discovered, was executed by scouts and lead elements, and the place has from that time been known as Dead Indian Pass.

Later, not too far north and east of this point Chief Joseph surrendered and gave his "From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever." And he didn't. Was that good stuff, or what?

Day 7 - The Beartooth - 163 Miles

Did my usual thing and woke up with the roosters. Took advantage of the bright, cool morning to do my little walking thing. While out I ran into another of those cute business integrations you see so often in small towns/tourist places. This time it's Buckaroo Bill's Ice Cream Parlor/BBQ Grill. I always wonder which came first and didn't meet expectations. In this case was it a BBQ place or an ice cream parlor? The sign yields no clue.

(Click on pictures to enlarge)

I don't know what the business gurus call this particular form of business integration. Perhaps it's just adding products, but it sure seems like it should have a specific name. For example, Henry Ford was the holy pope of vertical integration. First he built the cars, then he starting acquiring the raw material producers required to produce his car. Horizontal integration would be where you acquire operations involved in the same business. Ol' Harold Geneen of ITT sort of invented conglomeration. But I know of no name for a process where you keep adding dissimilar products in the hope of staying in business. I suggest Desperation Integration. Yeah, that works. (Yet another business principle identified, qualified, quantified, and named. I'll be famous.)

My absolute favorite comes from Houma, La. This is vertical business integration if it has ever existed. Literally catching 'em coming and going.

A buddy, Mike E. summed it up best, "The check never leaves the building." What next? I think they should add baby furniture and beer. That'd pretty much cover the life cycle and guarantee success.

Pulled into Yellowstone about 9:00 a.m. with Bobby J and Zelda. As always, the place defies my meager attempts to describe it so I won't.

On Day 4 I stopped at a place near Baggs, WY for lunch. While partaking of their excellent buffalo chili I perused an article in the local newspaper. It was by a guy who'd spent his adult career in the tourism business. In the article he pointed out that something strange happens to people whenever they get away from familiar surroundings while on vacation. These normally polite, thoughtful, and conscientious people, upon spotting an animal, or some sight, will stop their cars, abandon them with all four doors open, and not think a moment about it. It can't be explained he said, but he called them "Tourons," a cross between tourist and moron. He nailed it.

We weren't two miles inside the park boundary before we came to a complete stop. We then began inching our way forward at a rate of approximately 1/10th mile per hour wondering what could possibly cause such a traffic tie-up. After what seemed an interminable period we came upon the cause of the parkjam. There was a large buffalo bull that could be seen through the trees and across a small creek paralleling the roadway. Didn't take a picture because of the trees (and Tourons) hoping I'd have a better opportunity a little later. Bobby J assured me I would and we kept moving (as, and when, the Tourons would allow).

Bobby J proved prophetic once again. Not three miles down the road the traffic was once again slowed to a snail pace with us waiting in anticipation to see what could possibly be in front of us this time. I was leading and pulled slightly into the other traffic lane hoping to see the end of the snarl when I caught a glimpse of another buffalo, this one on the opposite shoulder of the road coming right at me!

As he came close to me a bus going the other way pulled slowly by him giving me some level of shielding, then the bus was gone and there he was. I took this picture and, as quietly as my bike would allow pulled slightly to the right and away. The bull didn't like me or my bike and gave us a look that said, "I'm about to kick your ass." It was sufficient to generate a further turn of the throttle and a hasty exit. Bobby J, who was behind me, also noticed the evident distaste the beast had for Betsy-the-Kaw and noted he didn't seem to mind his bike at all. Evidently just another four-legged Harley fanatic.

Some other shots in the Park:

Falls on the Firehole.

Evidently there's just something about water falls. This is a small creek flowing into the Yellowstone river.

Some antelope off the side of the road in Yellowstone.

Went through the park into Cooke City where we stopped for a beer and some great nachos.

Picture to the left indicates that some industries are better than others at vertical integration.

Since Bobby J makes industrial diamonds for drill bits, he doesn't find the gas prices as daunting as others. One man's sweet is another's poison, huh?

Leaving Cooke City Hwy212 becomes the Beartooth highway. Charles Kuralt of CBS' "On The Road" fame called the Beartooth the most beautiful ride in America. I won't disagree with him and now have a 1A and a 1B favorite ride. The other is the "Ride to the Sun" in Glacier National Park. The Beartooth:

Heading up.

And then: The Beartooth

(Love that 40X-er)

Rode into Red Lodge about 4:00 p.m. and met up with the Hole in the Head gang. We then moved in mass to the lodge where we are to stay for the weekend. Nice setup and with Wayne cooking my waistline doesn't have a prayer.

Under the heading into every life a little rain:

I'd shipped my favorite possession ahead for the pickin' and grinnin' sessions with the boys. It's a Larrivee guitar and absolutely the love of my life. FedEx Ground evidently dropped or threw it someway that it actually cracked the neck while in the case.

I didn't notice it right away. I'd loosened the strings for shipment and, when I started tuning it up I noticed something wasn't right in the sound. It was then that Lana B, sitting next to me, said, "Jerry, was there a crack down the neck?" I said, "What? Hell no, there's no crack down the neck." That's when I saw what she was talking about. Down both sides. This is terrible. I insured the shipment, but that doesn't make it good. This was an exquisite instrument, all parts worked together and it absolutely had the finest sound I've ever heard for a guitar. I don't know if Humpty Dumpty can be put back together again. Every fine instrument in the world has a separate sound, something that sets it apart from other fine instruments. We can replace the neck, but who the hell knows if it'll come back together with that sound? This is why I've never shipped it anywhere. I was right not to.

But, what can you do? Feces occurs. Sunk cost, I'll get the neck replaced and move on from here. But I ain't happy.